


Snow and Sand, Soul and Ash

by Namer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namer/pseuds/Namer
Summary: No one knows what happened at the Tower of Joy nine years ago amidst the ashes of Robert's Rebellion. Jon Sand, his destiny ordained ten thousand years ago, grows up at a lonely tower by the sea at the world's end, dreaming of swords, souls and stars. A High Fantasy AU of ASoIaF.
Kudos: 25





	1. Sunfall

## I  
  
Sunfall

The sun fell, and the sword of the morning fell with it.

His entire body was slick with sweat. It ran in rivulets from his temples, drenching his tunic. His teeth were gritted in exertion, and sweat ran down his hands over the shimmering blade of starlight in his hands. The sword that had once felt as light as a feather now weighed him down like a mountain. The red sun dipped beneath the mountains and took the bloody sands with it, leaving those graceful towers at the end of the valley in shadow. The shining waters of the Torrentine dulled, and the deep waters of the bay darkened.

The sword slid into its sheath with nary a ring. The swordsman let out a long sigh of exhaustion, and turned to the boy.

"You've tired him out too much, brother."

Jon's hands were on his knees. The training sword he'd been using discarded to the sand. He looked up with a grin as she descended the steps down to the courtyard. "It's-" He said, "alright-" between breaths, "Mother-"

The most beautiful woman in the world stopped just before the sand. Not one speck of it touched her shoes. She wore a dark dress of maroon cloth trimmed in violet embroidery. Her eyes were of the same violet as the twilit sky when a dying sun met an ocean storm. He'd heard that people used to sing of his mother's beauty. He'd never doubted why.

She cut in, "You're filthy, Jon. That's enough swordplay for today. Clean up. It's time for supper." Her words were far sharper than the sword he'd been practicing with.

Jon did as he was told. He stood there for a moment, panting, then picked up his training sword. Heading over to the short squat tower that was the armoury, he waved off a servant. His uncle had always taught him to take care of his own sword. It may not be an actual sword, but he'd get a scolding nonetheless if he pawned off the work.

The servant handed him a clean cloth instead. He dropped heavily to a bench, bracing the sword against a leg to wipe it down. There really wasn't much on it - just some sand. A few meters away, Jon's mother fussed over and argued with his uncle.

"You pushed yourself too hard today!" She scolded him. The two were normally of a height, but since she stood a couple steps higher, it felt like she loomed over him.

"I'm alright-" He protested. Despite that, Jon could see his hands shook a bit. It was more and more noticeable these days, especially after long training sessions. Sometimes Jon wished he could ask his uncle to take it easier during the training. But his uncle was always adamant on pushing them both to the limit. He'd disregarded Jon's worries the first time he had mentioned it and forbidden him to bring it up anymore or keep worrying.

"Good grief… it's like you forget you're not ten like Jon. And your injury-" Her voice softened. "I worry for you, brother."

She stepped down to the sands, approaching him. With one hand, she gently held his trembling fingers, steadying them and pulling them tight over the sword. She held the other to his cheek gently.

"You shouldn't worry so much, Ashara." He spoke quietly. Jon had to strain to listen in. His practice sword was more than clean enough by now, but he gave it a few more swipes to be sure.

"But I do. You're not Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning anymore, brother. Your wound-"

Jon had seen his uncle's wound before. It was an ugly red gash, as long as Jon's arm, stretching around his side. It looked raw and new even after a decade. When Jon had asked Maester Lycran about it, he spoke of spotted frogs and poisons, and no more.

"-Doesn't bother me. It's an old injury now. I know how to live with it. I just get tired quickly, Ashara. That's all. You know I'll be fine" Then he glanced over at Jon, "That sword won't get any cleaner!"

Jon leapt to his feet, nearly dropping the sword. Sheepishly, he handed it off to one of the men-at-arms stationed by the armoury and took off.

Starfall was a small castle. It had been built as a fortress by the very first Daynes who had found the fallen star at an island upon the river's mouth, ostensibly to guard their treasures. Over the years, as the Kings of the Torrentine extended their reign north to cover all the Valley to Nightsong, Starfall had changed from a cold and dreary fortress to soaring castle, possessing as much beauty as security. From the sea, it was protected by a stretch of marshy ground, then rough, craggy waters full of reefs and hidden rocks that opened to the Summer Sea. From land, an invading force must break through Blackmont and High Hermitage first, and those were stout fortresses yet.

So Starfall stood, eternal sentinel at the river's mouth, guarding the star's grave.

Jon ran along the courtyard and up the stairs, dodging past maids and servants changing shifts or retiring for the night. A few calls went after him, urging him to be careful. It took him only a few minutes to reach his rooms in the Graysteel Hearth Tower.

Bath was already prepared for him. He washed up and changed to nicer clothes. On the way out, he passed two maidservants. One he knew - Canella was a matronly woman with surprisingly firm hands who had spent most of the past decade running after him. The second one, he didn't recognize. She was young and had all the hallmarks of a new hire.

"Oh! Lord Jon," Canella stopped and lowered her head, "Your mother is waiting for you quite anxiously. I think she may have a surprise in store" Gesturing to the girl next to her, she added, "Delly, you will be working for Lord Jon."

Jon groaned a little, "But I already have you. I can clean up after myself now!"

"The lady doesn't think so." The older woman said and that was it.

Jon smiled at the new serving girl. "Welcome to Starfall," before heading down the stairs.

She didn't look enthused about working for the Daynes. If anything, she looked apprehensive. He wondered why, but it became clear a moment later. She must've thought he was out of earshot by now. Jon heard her question in a high voice, "I have to work for the bas-"

It was cut off by what sounded like a smack, "Lord Jon is as much a Dayne as Lord Edric. Do not, ever, use that word, or Lady Dayne will have you thrown out in a heartbeat. To you, he's Lord Jon Dayne, not Sand."

He paused, a landing down. Jon Sand. Although he had been raised as any trueborn son, even at the age of nine he knew what being a bastard meant. His mother, Ashara, had done everything she could for short of legitimizing him, and the only reason she had never sought that from the King was because of his uncle.

"It doesn't matter," Jon told himself, as he did every time it came up, and moved on.

Cleaned up and changed into clothes more befitting the son of a noble, Jon headed to the Great Hall. The Hall was a later addition than the five towers surrounding it. The timber was white, a marked contrast to the gray towers surrounding it. The Graysteel Tower was the shortest, with wide, shuttered windows all around. The tower faced the eastern mountains of the valley, and the Daynes always woke at dawn when the sun crested those peaks and bathed their chambers in light.

The other towers were Stonehelm Guard - wide and thick, overlooking the gate and the narrow road - where Starfall's swords and soldiers dwelled; Ravenrock Crown, where Maester Lycran held classes and took care of the ravens; Wheatgold Helm, third tallest and the widest, where the smallfolk of Starfall lived, and where grain would be stocked for war or winter; Ironmark Arm, which used to hold the forges and workshops but had been converted to a Sept and library; and finally the Palestone Sword, tallest and oldest of them all, rising gracefully to the south - an ivory needle looking out towards the endless sea. Jon had never been allowed inside the Palestone Sword - the entrance was locked with heavy chains and the windows were shuttered from within.

The great hall was brightly lit, even though it was just family in attendance tonight. Canella was right - his mother wanted to make some kind of announcement. She sat at the center of the table, as befitting her status as the Lady of Starfall. His uncle sat to her right. The Sword of the Morning looked a little rested now. Jon's aunt, Allyria, sat on Ashara's other side, keeping little Edric's attention as he babbled animatedly. She was a slighter and plainer version of her elder sister, yet beautiful by any conventional sense. Her eyes were lilac, warm compared to her sisters'.

As soon as she saw Jon, Allyria turned to her sister, "There he is. Can we start now? I'm absolutely starving, and you've kept us all in suspense ever since you got that letter this morning."

Ashara sighed. "You might as well go ahead, Ally, and you sit down and eat too, Jon. I can't believe you're not as hungry as this girl. Didn't you spend the whole day swinging swords?"

"It's not the same," Allyria whined between bites, "He enjoys getting beat up by brother."

Jon scowled at his aunt. She grinned at him smugly. Ashara was sure if she hadn't been there, Jon would've made a rude gesture or three. But in front of everyone, Jon merely settled for glaring at her and sitting down to eat.

It was a better meal than what they usually had, but nothing too extravagant. They bought out great shanks of veal glistening with sauces and oils, richly spiced, along with roasted ham and nuts and greens piled high. Between bites of baked potatoes and sweet cheese Jon eyed the jug of Arbor Red sitting on the table - so tantalizingly close - but also an incredibly risky prospect with his mother just an arm's length away. She was busy with Edric, fussing and spilling food, but Arthur was also a second watchful eye at the table.

Once the meal ended, the table was mostly cleared and little Edric had been sent to bed, it was time for heavier discussions.

"Ally," Ashara began, "You're a woman grown now. You know we've been planning your betrothal for some time now."

Allyria looked up at Ashara, teetering on her seat. Her lips pursed. Jon could feel the palpable tension. There was really only one reason Ashara would be bringing it up now.

Finally, Allyria asked, "Who is it?"

Over the past year, there had been quite a lot of suitors for her. As a daughter of one of Dorne's more prestigious houses, Allyria could even have been matched to a Lord Paramount's son - in different times. Instead, all her suitors were sons of Dorne or Marcher Lords. Jon thought back to the suitors who had marched into Starfall to offer their hands - freckled Syrus Santagar, tall Daeron Allyrion, portly Andrey Dalt, booming Cletus Yronwood - all second sons and third sons, and none of them had been to Allyria's liking. And the less said of the Reach-boys, as green and weedy as the grass about their towers, the better.

There had been only one suitor Allyria had truly liked. Jon watched his mother's face closely as she let Allyria stew in suspense for a moment. When she opened it, it was with a smile.

Before she could say anything, Jon piped in, "It's Ser Don-Don, isn't it?"

The look on Allyria's face made the glare his mother gave him _almost_ worth it.

It was indeed Ser Beric Dondarrion, the handsome young lord of Blackhaven, one of the finest up-and-coming warriors of the Stormlands. He had been courteous and comely as well - a perfect combination for Allyria to fall in love with.

"We won't be holding the betrothal ceremony proper for a few months yet. Lord Dondarrion hopes to hold it at Blackhaven early next year. But until then, you're free to exchange letters with Beric now that your betrothal is all but confirmed." Ashara said, "Congratulations, little sister."

Allyria smiled and leaned in, hugging the older woman tightly. Arthur grabbed the jug of Arbor Red and poured out gobletfuls for the women and himself. He glanced at Jon, hesitating for a moment, before pouring a couple sips for him too. Jon looked into the wine, red as blood, and threw it down like he had seen others do. It burned on its way down, but he stopped himself from coughing out loud.

It wasn't long before Ashara sent Jon off to bed too. His usual bedtime maid wasn't there, most likely celebrating, but Jon was old enough to get into bed by himself. He just started washing up when he heard the door open. He looked out and sighed. Edric had somehow managed to slip out from under his nurse's watch yet again. He must have been hiding outside the room, waiting for him to come back.

"Go to bed, Edric. It's really late." Jon told the younger boy. "Mother will make us spend the entire week with the Maester if she catches us."

Edric shook his head vigorously, "I was really quiet!" He said, not too quietly.

Jon shushed his little cousin, "Quieter! C'mon, what's so interesting it couldn't wait?"

"I found a hole."

Jon stood there for a moment, waiting for Edric to continue. The six-year old looked back at him blithely, as if expecting him to know. "A hole, where? They're dangerous, you know." He finally asked.

"The white tower. The one we can't go near. It's really close to the cliff. Maybe that's why nobody noticed it before."

"Edric," Jon grabbed him, "You went near the edge of the cliff? Alone? Edric, you can't do that. Mother would have a fit if she knew, and I don't know what she'll do if you actually fell!"

His cousin fell back, cringing. Jon took a deep breath. "Sorry, Edric, but please don't go near there again. Not by yourself. I know you me to come take a look at the hole you found, but not tonight. Go back to bed before anyone realizes."

Edric nodded, dejected. Despite that, he was far too excitable a six year old. Jon had no choice but to escort him upstairs, tiptoeing up the staircase. The castle was brightly lit and well maintained. Brackets with lit torches were hung every few steps, making it impossible for the two of them to hide in the shadows. Fortunately, Edric's room was nearby, only taking a minute or two to reach at a brisk pace. At one point, two maidservants ran by, chattering away with piles of blankets in hand. Jon just barely avoided being seen by ducking into a doorway, pulling Edric with him.

Fortunately, Edric's nurse was gone, probably assuming her charge was asleep. Jon let go of Edric's hand only once they were inside the room, "We'll look at the hole tomorrow, okay? Go to sleep now."

Fortunately, the subterfuge seemed to have finally tired out Edric enough. He gave a drowsy smile as Jon put him to bed. Once the younger boy was snuggled up, Jon quietly left the room.

The castle seemed to be bustling with activity. Jon could hear loud voices in the distance. Starfall was celebrating the news of Allyria's betrothal. His curiosity piqued, Jon headed past his room out to one of the balconies and looked down. The central courtyard, just below the Graysteel Tower, was brightly lit, with most of the castle folk and soldiers having a party. At this distance, he could just make out his mother and uncle standing near the door to the great hall, watching. Allyria was at the center of the festivities, laughing away with her handmaids.

It seemed like almost all of Starfall's populace was merrymaking. The rest of the castle was empty. Something drew Jon's gaze away from the courtyard. He turned and looked in the opposite direction, towards the sea and the Palestone Sword. The white stone seemed to glow in the darkness, standing out like a needle of bone in the darkness. Beyond it, the sky glowed brightly with stars. There were more stars than ever, and they shone brighter than Jon had ever seen. Edric's words came to his head.

The Palestone Sword tower usually had guards during the day. At least three, posted along the parapets looking out to the sea. Edric was small and slight, capable of sneaking into a lot of places, but Jon himself was much bigger. In the day, at least one of the guards posted there was likely to catch him.

But tonight, there was no one. It wouldn't hurt to take a quick look. The seawards side of the tower was dangerous, yes, but Jin was confident he could make his way to wherever Edric had found the hole.

Jon ran back to his room, putting on sturdier shoes and grabbing a cloak. A bare torch would be dangerous to carry around, but there were several enclosed lamps in his room. Tucking one lamp under the cloak, Jon left the room.

Fortunately, no one ran into him as he reached the castle grounds and climbed onto the battlements. This side of the castle was just as empty as he had noted. Furtively glancing around to make sure no one could see him, he pulled out the lamp as he reached the foot of the Palestone Sword tower. The tower had two entrances, one on this side, and the other looking out towards the sea. To reach the other side, Jon had to climb down a rope ladder on the outer side of the battlements.

The sea was only a few steps away. Below him, he could hear the waves crashing. The grass grew right up to the edge of the cliff, and vines grew up along the outer side of the wall. Though Jon wasn't afraid of heights, it was dark. Holding out the lamp and placing one hand on the wall, he followed the wall to the base of the tower. The grass and vines were dense here. The gardeners didn't come here often.

"Where's this hole, now…" Jon muttered to himself as he cast his lamp around. The base of the tower was almost completely carpeted in moss and vines. Suddenly, a flash of insight stuck him. Finding the densest patch of greenery, he probed it. The vines parted, showing a patch of darkness. The masonry had crumbled. The hole was just wide enough for him to squeeze though.

Something at the back of his head told him it might be a bad idea to explore a crumbling tower alone in the middle of the night. But curiosity, and something else, pulled him into the darkness. Grabbing the lantern in hand, he slid himself feet first into the hole.

His feet only found empty air. Before he could grab onto anything, he found himself falling. It was only for a moment.

He crashed into the hard, stone floor with a yelp. "Yoww!" Picking himself up and dusting off, he let out a sigh of relief as the lamp was unbroken. He held it up and cast the light around. It looked like a fairly typical cellar room, full of dusty crates and barrels nailed shut. A cold wind blew his cloak around him.

A cold wind blew through the room, setting Jon's cloak aflutter. _Wind down here? Where's it going?_ Jon wondered, and followed after it. Lamp held as high as his nine-year old form could, he made his way through a maze of the forgotten and discarded. Tattered banners with the sword and star of House Dayne lay crumpled atop broken furniture. But there was nothing here that looked like a big secret. So why was the tower locked shut, forbidden to everyone?

As he walked, the floor below him felt like it was less sturdier. A glance downwards confirmed it was wood planking, not stone. In fact, it was fairly soft and springy...

He took another step, and the floor collapsed beneath him.

Jon screamed all the way to blackness.  
  


* * *

  
Jon woke to pain.

It wasn't the worst pain he'd ever felt in his short life. His uncle had wallopped him harder once or twice. But this time it was spread all over his body. He climbed to his feet, tasting a strange wetness in his mouth. A tooth was missing.

"Mother! Uncle!" Jon called out, wincing through the pain, "MOTHER!" His screams echoed all around him in the black cave. It was so absolutely dark he couldn't even see his own hand just before his face.

Somewhere deep down, Jon was absolutely terrified. A child lost in the darkness, with none to hear his screams. That was the rational part of his mind. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a dim glow coming from one direction, and the irrational part of his mind forced his aching legs forward one step at a time. He hobbled through the darkness, one hand touching a wall for balance.

He hadn't studied much about how caves were formed. But he had learnt that the island Starfall stood on was riddled with them. They snaked through the rock, dozens of feet below the lowest stones of the castle. The rock was hard and study, almost impossible to break through by human hands, ensuring the castle's foundations were strong. These caves went all the way down to the waterline. He would have to be careful of the water.

The glow - it was more of a pull, he now realized - only intensified as he headed further down. The tunnel fell into a slope, gradual at first, then sharp. Jon had to walk slowly and carefully to avoid falling down. But his unluck beat out his patience and as his foot came down it slipped on gravel. A heartbeat later he was tumbling down a steep slope. Every bounce on the hard rock made his already bruised body shoot with a jolt of pain, until he splashed into the water.

The freezing cold shocked him into action. The water wasn't deep, only coming up to his knees. But it was icy-cold and salty. The water stung his mouth. He shook himself off, then continued trudging through the water.

Slowly, the passageway started to incline upwards again. His calves and thighs burned with the exertion, but Jon was still a boy. He had a boy's energy, so he pressed on.

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now. Even though there was no natural light, some of the rocks seemed to glow dimly. Not enough to light anything up, but enough to cast the faintest shadows and let Jon see the walls, which were smooth. Not smooth in the worn-rock manner, but chiselled smooth and straight as if by a master stoneworker. There were no seams or anything. It was like the whole tunnel had been made out of a single piece of hollowed out stone.

The tunnel levelled. The pull glowed brighter as Jon reached the end of the passage. The glow kept intensifying, until it was a blinding light at the end of the tunnel. Jon shut his eyes and raised his hands for protection, but his legs carried him onwards.

The light faded.

Jon found himself in a dimly lit cavern - no, cavern wasn't the right word. It was a chamber. Perfectly spherical, with a single walkway leading to a dais at the centre. All the pain and exhaustion was gone. He was standing by the dais, holding an orb of equal parts ebony darkness and snowy brightness.

He turned it in his hands, and the penumbra shifted from midnight to noon. The stone drew him in. He stared at it, and within its depths he _saw_.

He saw great lashes of flame and shade falling upwards from the bosom of Heaven. He saw eternity itself sewn into hoar and rime and piled upon mountains of the fallen. He saw nine shattered into seven, and seven sundered into five. He saw a pale mare and its golden-winged rider dining on the wines of kings. He saw the Sword of the Stars, that which could command the sky itself. He saw endless tongues of water, and air, and steel, all wrapping themselves around Hope. He saw the ephemeral battlements and ghostly arches of the Last Lonely Tower, rising from the depths of the World's End.

He saw those who rode through a rain of blood, sweat and tears. He saw them ride, all alone, grim and forlorn, capes aflutter in their last charge ere they rode and vanished evermore into the maw of darkness. He heard the songs that were never sung.

He saw where Hope was born. He saw where Hope had been taken, against all advice and wishes, and murdered. He saw Hope crucified on spikes of obsidian, wrapped in putrefied flesh and violated beyond imagination. He saw where Hope had fought, bled, and died - in the deepest, darkest shadow, where light was black and life was fleeter than a stillborn child.

He _saw it all_.

_So you've come at last._

_It is too early. You are but a child._

_Yet you've come. We teeter closer and closer._

_Day by day, and hour by hour, the precipice draws near._

_Soon, the end will be here. You must prepare. All must prepare._

_Hope died once, as we stood by and did naught. It will not happen again._

_You know what you must do. Reforge the flame anew. Bring the dawn once more-_

_Forevermore!_

_Find her!  
  
_

* * *

  
It was warm.

Jon's eyes fluttered open. Those words were fresh in his head. " _Find her_." He simultaneously knew and had no idea who she was supposed to be. And everything else, everything he had seen and heard, was just a blurry haze. No matter how hard he tried to focus, they seemed to flash by. It was like trying to catch a speck of dust caught in a ray of sunlight. He thought he remembered something about fire, a tower, and… hope?

He tried to rise, but couldn't. He had never felt so weak in his life. There were layers of heavy blankets covering him.

Someone must've seen him move, however. He heard a call, and scarcely a moment later his mother swept into the room and hugged him tight.

"Jon, oh, Jon! You're alright now. You are, aren't you?" She was sobbing.

Jon froze in shock then hugged her back. He clutched her tightly, the trickle of memories obliviating. He felt energy returning to his body even as he held onto his mother. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she stepped back.

Then she slapped him, "What were you thinking, Jon? What in the seven hells were you thinking, going into that tower in the dead of the night? You aren't this senseless. Do you know how worried you had us? We looked and looked and looked for you through the whole castle until Edric told us about the tower. You're lucky to be alive, you know? You could've broken your neck in that fall. You could've died down in that hole. You nearly did-" Her voice choked, bringing the tirade to a halt as she began sobbing again, hugging Jon tightly again as if to make sure he was still there in front of her.

"I- I'm sorry," he murmured, "I'm sorry, Mother. I know I shouldn't have gone down there. I don't know what came over me or why I felt like I just had to."

She let go once again, holding Jon at arm's length, "What do you mean, you had to?"

Jon thought for a moment. "I can't really explain it, mother. There was a cave - I think someone made it. It wasn't like a normal cave. I found this black stone and suddenly started seeing things. Then I woke up."

"Jon," Ashara said hesitantly, "We didn't find anything like that. The floor of the tower's cellar had collapsed. We found you at the bottom of a simple hole."

"No!" Jon was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice, "I fell into a cave. There was water. I followed the cave for so long until I found it. I think it was the star."

"The star?"

"This castle. Uncle's sword. I think it was the star that fell."

"That's a myth, Jon. You're still confused and hurting. Your head was swollen when we found you. No more talk of this, now, Jon. Rest."

He wanted to argue, but he know his mother, and he knew that tone of hers. It wouldn't be wise. Instead, he nodded mutely and slunk back under the covers. Ashara stood up, calling for one of the maidservants to bring warm bread and soup. But Jon couldn't keep his eyes open long enough, and drifted off to dreams once again. But the dreams he was looking for eluded him, and it seemed to him that they were getting further and further away until the only thing he could see was the very last image, of the Last Lonely Tower fading away like a ghost in the dawn.

The next time he woke up, it was Arthur and little Edric. As soon as he raised his head Edric, who had been sitting by the fire glumly and kicking his legs, ran up to the bed. Between sobs Jon could barely make out a bunch of sorries and thanks. He simply grinned and told the younger boy, "Stop crying, I'll be on my feet in no time!"

All the while uncle Arthur stood by, watching with a smile that went as far as his eyes. When Jon met them, Arthur gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Arthur and Edric stayed far longer than his mother had, sitting by his side through a full meal. With a warm and fuzzy feeling within him, Jon fell into a well of fevered dreams once more. Everything was shrouded in mist, and not one of the missing images or memories came back to him this time. He was well and truly forsaken.

The third time he woke up, he was alone in the room. The shutters were closed, though a stray beam of moonlight slipped through a crack in the window and curtains. It was night, and the fires burnt low. There was a maidservant asleep in the corner of the room, no doubt stationed there by his mother in case of an emergency. As Jon watched, she shifted in her sleep, curling up inside her blanket. He stayed quiet in order to not wake her up.

There was nothing else to do. He didn't feel like getting out of bed yet. He fell back on the pillows again, though sleep wasn't readily forthcoming tonight.

Jon was torn between staying in bed and getting up. Either seemed pointless. It was a strange restlessness.

_What- what did he want?_

He wanted a sword in hand.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest complaint regarding ASoIaF was always neither the verbosity nor the alarming number of irrelevant plot threads, nor the lack of a sixth book, but rather the fact that it wasn't a low fantasy series like everyone claimed it to be. It was a high-fantasy story that spent too much time rolling around in mud and when it got back up, everyone assumed it's some ultra-realistic low-fantasy series.
> 
> So, welcome to Snow and Sand, Soul and Ash, the story of an adventure to the end of the world and back, by a character who wouldn't be out of place in any sword and sorcery novel or fantasy epic. It's a proper high fantasy epic of magic, adventure and depression inspired by Sanderson, Rothfuss and Hobb respectively.
> 
> I usually post on Sufficient Velocity and FFNet. First time posting on AO3. Let's see how this goes...
> 
> My updating schedule is super irregular, but reviews always incentivize me.


	2. Truthseeking

## II  
  
Truthseeking

No sword ever felt right in his hand ever again.

Jon's uncle, Arthur Dayne, had once been known as the Sword of the Morning. The finest blade in Westeros, despite having peers like the White Bull and Barristan the Bold. Every single person in Starfall, from the lowliest serving boy to Lady Ashara herself, knew his advice on swordsmanship as gospel. Even Jon did, but ever since that night he just couldn't follow the very first tenet Uncle Arthur had taught him.

"Your sword _is_ your arm. A swordsman forsakes flesh for steel."

Jon had almost gotten that lesson down. Had. After he found a good short sword fitted to his size, he had begun approaching that vaunted point. But ever since that night, every sword Jon picked up felt like he was holding an ungainly slab of metal. His uncle assured him that it was simply because he was weak and out of practice, but as the months dragged on, there was no change.

Everything else in Jon's life proceeded apace. He had his lessons with the Maester in the afternoons, studying the geography and history of Westeros. He learned about the history of Starfall and Dorne, of the wars of the Stone Kings and Sand Kings; Of the countless battles fought in the Dornish Marches against the Gardener Kings and Storm Kings; Of the fall of the Rhoynar and the arrival of Nymeria's ten-thousand ships - some vaguely familiar, feeling of longing stirred within him at that point, but he quashed it. It was a bright day, and Jon wanted the lesson to be over as quickly as possible. He wasn't about to interrupt Maester Lycran in the middle of his ramble.

He learned of Aegon Targaryen's descent in fire upon Westeros, the Dances of the Dragons, all the way up to Robert Baratheon's rebellion. Maester Lycran seemed to want that topic over with as fast as possible, simply detailing the battles that had been fought.

Jon was still an excitable nine-year old, however. "Which one did Uncle Arthur fight at?"

The Maester stuttered, "I- well- I think you should ask your Uncle yourself."

Satisfied with that answer, Jon nodded. It wasn't long before he had another question ready to go.

"Was Prince Rhaegar a bad person? Everything started because of him, and all these books blame him too. But mother and uncle say King Robert was wrong."

Was Maester Lycran _sweating_? It wasn't that hot, was it?

Finally, the Maester answered. "The books- you shouldn't believe every word they say. Do you think the King would let books be written about how he was a bad person? If the Targaryens won, do you think these books would put the blame on them? No, Jon. History is written by the victors. Whatever would be written down was decided at the Trident, nine years ago. If you want to know more about what happened during the Rebellion, you should ask Lady Ashara and Lord Arthur. Unlike me or the Maesters who wrote these books, they _were_ there.

The minute he was released from the lessons, instead of heading outside like usual Jon went straight to the Graysteel Hearth tower. At this time of the day, his mother would be in her rooms, resting or doing something boring like sewing or praying. If she was elsewhere, one of the maidservants would be able to tell him where.

Fortunately, Jon found her in her rooms straightaway. They were on the top floor of the tower, stretching from a seaward view to an inland mountain-view.. She was out on the balcony, just gazing out eastwards, lost in thought. The door was open.

"Mother?" Jon asked, rapping on the door.

She turned around. "Oh, Jon! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at your lessons with the Maester now?"

"He just let me go, Mother. We were studying history. He just covered the Fall of the Targaryens, but he wouldn't tell me who was in the right. He said I should ask you or Uncle because you lived it."

She closed her eyes, sighing. "I knew this day would come, I suppose." She headed inside, sitting on the bed and motioning for Jon to join her. He plopped down beside her, in the same way he would lean in for a story.

"Why do you want to know, Jon? It was a sad affair that's past us now. You can just as easily learn about it when you're older." She stroked his hair.

"I'm- I just want to know! Uncle Arthur came back from it with his wound. Nobody in Starfall will talk about it. In the stories you can always tell who the good people and the bad people are, but it's all so confusing here. Even old history is clearer!"

"Sometimes I forget you're so young. History isn't like stories where good and bad are clear cut. Everyone believes they are the heroes of their own life, that what they are doing is right."

"Then Prince Rhaegar thought he was doing the right thing?"

"Maybe. You know I was a lady-in-waiting to Elia Martell. He loved her. That was evident, plain as day to anyone and everyone who knew him. But he could also be strange and melancholic at times. Prone to fits of whimsy. Maybe he kidnapped Lyanna Stark in the midst of one such fit. Or maybe he really believed he had a good reason for it."

"Even though everyone started fighting because of it? If he didn't do it, he would've been king now. Then he could have any woman he wanted."

"He didn't want any woman, Jon. He wanted Lyanna Stark. He met her at Harrenhal, at that cursed tourney in the Year of the False Spring, and was instantly besotted. He won the tourney, and instead of crowning Lady Elia he crowned Lyanna Stark the queen of love and beauty. Oh, if only he hadn't…" She gazed off, wistful.

Jon let her. It was hard enough to get his mother or uncle to talk about their pasts. Now that she was talking, he wasn't going to risk pushing too hard.

"Where were you, Mother? During the War?"

"After the tourney, I returned with Elia to King's Landing. Aerys was growing more and more paranoid. She sent me away, for my own safety. I remember the day I was in Bitterbridge, and news came of Rhaegar's folly. I wanted to return to King's Landing straightaway, but my escorts forced me to return to Starfall.

"At Highgarden, we passed the Reach's muster. That's when I learnt I was pregnant with you. Oh, if you could've seen it, Jon. Ranks upon ranks of the finest of the Reach, glittering steel and polished mail shining in the sun. Thousands upon thousands, like a river of metal. All the knights of the Reach were there. We heard about Robert's victory at Summerhall, and rejoiced when Lord Tarly smashed him at Ashford. Oh, if only the war had ended there and then."

"But Robert won in the end. At the Trident." Jon said.

Ashada nodded sadly, "Yes. Prince Rhaegar was a poet, a singer, a storyteller. He fought only in Tourneys, and only to show the nobility that the Prince was a valiant knight like any other. Robert Baratheon was the opposite. He was a warrior from childhood. Everybody knew what would happen if Prince Rhaegar met him, and yet Rhaegar did so. And he died for it. Ser Darry and Prince Lewyn, and so many other good men…"

"What about Uncle Arthur? Did he get wounded at the Trident? Or before that?"

Ashara paused. Jon glanced up at her curiously. After a moment, she answered, "No. Your uncle wasn't at the Trident, nor before. If he had been, Rhaegar would be King now. No, your uncle had a special task from Prince Rhaegar. But he did get wounded during the war, fighting for his Prince."

Jon had another question, but he wasn't sure if he should ask it. "Um-." Every time he had approached this topic, both his mother and uncle had rebuffed him. Ashara looked at him expectantly. "Yes, Jon?"

"Did my father fight in the rebellion?"

There was quietness. Jon wondered if he had gone too far. His mother never, ever talked about his father. The only thing he knew about the man was that he was still alive.

After a long silence, Ashara answered. "Yes, sweetheart, he did. He fought at the Trident."

A single tear rolled down her cheeks. Jon suddenly felt bad for dredging up all those memories. They were painful memories for her. He hugged her tightly and she squeezed him back in response. "I'm sorry, Mother." He murmured, but she shushed him. "You're fast becoming a man, Jon. It's alright. It's okay for you to ask about what you need to know."

They sat like that for a long time, until the sun began to fall and the pangs of hunger drove Jon out of his mother's embrace towards the kitchens.

As he left, he glanced back to find Ashara staring at him, an indeterminable look on her face.

* * *

Uncle Arthur had begun to teach him to ride, and often the two of them would set off early in the mornings under his mother's disapproving glare - aimed at Arthur, not Jon - to ride around the castle and its surroundings.

From the gates of Starfall, a sloping causeway built out of large paving bricks curved downwards along the cliff line. It was wide enough for five horsemen to ride abreast in comfort, but one side of the causeway opened up to treacherous rocks a dozen meters below, while the other side rested against the cliff face and was exposed to the castle above. The causeway wound around the island until it reached the ground, only a few feet above the river. A sturdy bridge, built across the narrowest point after the Torrentine split, connected the castle to the mainland.

On the other side of the bridge was an ancient village. It had been there since long before the coming of the Andals and it would be there for as long as there were Daynes in Starfall. The people of the village were a hardy mix of First Men and Rhoynar. They hunted and grew crops in the marshes and fished along the Torrentine.

There were other villages too, a day's ride up the river towards High Hermitage and also away from the River towards the mountains, where the land was better for grazing.

Jon loved going down to the village. There was always so much to see and do!

That day, like all days, the place was bustling with activity. Men hauled in large bags of fresh catch, piling them by the road where fisherwives set, gutting, salting and gossiping. Other women hung out clothes to dry or sat in the shade weaving baskets and nets. Young children, half Jon's age, stared unabashedly at the two of them as they rode through.

"Good morning, milords!" The village blacksmith called out as the two of them approached the forge. He seemed busy today, as both his sons were hammering away further inside. The bellows were running hot.

Arthur replied, "Good morning, Cully. Everything going well?"

"Aye, milord. Those explorers put in a hefty order for sturdy iron nails and fine buckles. They were in a hurry, especially that odd hairy fellow who calls himself a Maester. Seems like their last smith did a shoddy job - one man snapped a leg in a fall. They're paying good money to have these done by tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, "Carry on, then. Wouldn't want to disturb your work."

As the two of them rode on, Jon asked, "What was he talking about? Explorers?"

"Remember that night you fell into the cave?" The older man answered, "Your mother hasn't forgotten about it. Oh no, not by a long shot. We got in touch with a Maester from the citadel who professes to have experience with magic. He's hired some miners and explorers to map out the sea caves under Starfall."

"Really?" Jon perked up. "I thought you'd all forgotten about it. That night feels like a dream to me by now. You should've told me, I could help-"

"Absolutely not, Jon." Was his uncle's curt reply, "Your mother will have my hide if she hears you went down there again. Those men are there exactly so you don't have to go down there."

Jon looked away, conflicted. On one hand, he had this feeling none of the men would find anything down there without him. On the other hand, memories of what happened the last time he disregarded safety and the rules and went down…"

Slowly, he nodded. "Okay. But please, please tell me about what they find, uncle."

"Of course, Jon." The old knight chuckled.

The two of them rode on in companionable silence for another hour. The village and Starfall receded to small dots in the distance behind them, and the valley opened up, climbing higher and higher ahead of them. In the distance, if Jon squinted he could see the small blocky towers of High Hermitage atop a crag, silhouetted by the sun.

"Let's go back, Jon." Arthur suddenly said. There was something in his voice... "We're too far out."

"Uncle, are you alright?" Jon drew his horse close.

Arthur swayed on his horse. Jon stared, terrified, as the Sword of the Morning teetered on the edge of falling, his head limp. Jon had no idea what to do if his uncle collapsed here. Help was hours away, and there was no way Jon could lift his uncle back onto his horse. His only hope was some messenger or traveller, and none were in sight.

Right before Arthur could fall, his fists tightened and he pulled at the reins of the horse. His mount swayed to the opposite side and back, and the motion gave Jon's uncle the strength to pull himself back to his normal position. The moment passed.

Arthur smiled grimly, "I'm alright, Jon."

"It's that wound, isn't it?"

"It is, but you don't need to worry-"

"Mother said you got wounded in the Rebellion."

His uncle's head snapped up. "What did she say?" His uncle's destrier, sensing his agitated mood, took a step forward.

"Not _that_ much," Jon's mount took a nervous step backwards before he reined it in with a tug. "Maester Lycran was teaching me about the Rebellion and told me to talk to you or mother. Then Mother told me that my father fought at the Trident. But she wouldn't say where you got that." Jon gestured towards the side of Arthur's body.

"Whoa, whoa." Arthur said, "One step at a time."

He sighed, glancing away. He stared into the distance for a few long minutes, until beginning again. "I'm sorry about all the secrets we keep from you, Jon, but some knowledge is dangerous. You're nearly old enough to know some of them, I suppose. Come, these things are not best discussed openly on the road."

Arthur led Jon along a trail that forked off the road and headed towards the mountains. In the distance, Jon could see the shapes of hamlets and the movement of grazing sheep, like little white clouds in a green sky.

"We loved Rhaegar. He was a shining example of nobility. He was kind and passionate. He could wield song and smile and steel with the same ease. But when he crowned- when he crowned Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty, all the smiles died. Ashara spent a day and a night cursing him, but Elia… I think Princess Elia knew what he was going to do.

"He was strange and restless ever since that day. Obsessed with magic and prophecies. Then one day, he found Lyanna Stark. I don't know what words they exchanged, because he had me and Whent wait a distance away, but I will tell you this - she came willingly."

"Came… where?"

"South. Dorne. Jon, you must never tell another soul what I'm about to tell you. Not without my permission. Mine, or your mother's."

Jon nodded mutely.

"Rhaegar and Lyanna stayed for many months in the mountains north of here, at a place they called the Tower of Joy. Three of the Kingsguard were with him - Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent and me. When news of the Mad King's folly and of Robert Baratheon raising his banners came to us, the Prince left straightaway, leaving the three of us to protect Lady Stark, who was pregnant.

Arthur's voice grew somber. "You know what happened next. My Prince died at the Trident, because I wasn't there to protect him. Y- Lyanna's brother, Eddard Stark of Winterfell, came to the Tower of Joy with seven men. We should've given her up then, but the White Bull would not be restrained."

At Jon's enraptured face, he said, "It wasn't one of those heroic fights from the stories, Jon. We were outnumbered, but Ned Stark had bought friends and trusted comrades, not great warriors. My brothers fell first, but so did Stark's, until only two of them remained: Stark himself, and Howland Reed."

Reed. Why did the name sound so familiar? Images of frogs flashed across Jon's eyes. "The lord of the Crannogmen?"

"Indeed. His spear stuck me through the side. It was coated with poison."

"That- that wasn't honourable of him!"

"There's precious little honour in War. Besides, Howland Reed was no knight, and a close friend of both Lyanna and Ashara. I couldn't keep fighting after that, so I yielded. Reed treated the wound best he could, but not all poisons have antidotes. When Ned came out of the tower, it was with Lyanna's body. She had died in childbirth, and Rhaegar's heir was stilborn."

"Then you came back to Starfall." Jon finished.

"Then I came back to Starfall." Arthur said.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, as Jon tried to digest the enormity of the whole story. So much still didn't make sense. "But why did everything happen? You said Rhaegar was a honourable and noble person. Why did he run away with Lyanna? He was the Prince, he should've known what would happen!"

"I wish I could say, Jon. I wish so many things, least of all to know what was on the mind of my Prince in those days. You may know what happened now, but you're still too young to understand everything. Until you do, not a whisper. Not to Edric, not to anyone at Starfall."

"I promise, Uncle."

He gave Jon a measured look. "Good. It's well past time we returned home. No doubt you're hungry. At your age, riding made me peckish to no end too."

"Then I'll race you home, uncle!"

"Whoa there, Jon!"

* * *

His lessons continued in both swordcraft and statecraft, as the spring faded into the height of summer. The snows had all but melted up at the mountain peaks, and the smallfolk rejoiced at the end of what they saw as the end of an age. The Winter of Rebellions was over and the spring of hope had finally given birth to the long Summer.

The days passed, as Jon's tenth nameday came and went. Little Edric shot up like a weed, growing taller with the speed only young boys could manage. Jon was growing too. He had switched out the shortsword for a longer and heavier one. It didn't quite fit in his hands, but nevertheless he bore it with pride. It was a symbol of approaching manhood.

The atmosphere in Starfall changed, too. Edric would be sent for fostering soon, and Allyria was preparing to travel to Blackhaven for her betrothal to Beric Dondarrion.

The entire household would be travelling. Even Arthur Dayne, who had not left Starfall in over a decade, would be going. The grimace on his old uncle's face told Jon he had no wish to go, but his presence would be a great honour to House Dondarrion that could not be shirked easily.

The betrothal was the talk of the Reach, the Stormlands and the Dornish Marches alike. After all, Ashara Dayne's beauty was known far and wide, and men had high expectations of her sister. They had high expectations of the sister of the Sword of the Morning too. Every lord in the region was expected to come, and Jon and Edric were forced into the Maester's study for days on end memorizing absolutely every last facet of the histories and politics of every last house in the Region, Ashara and Allyria looming over them.

It would be a long journey, too. The distance to Blackhaven was short, as the raven flew, but the mountains of Dorne made travel long and arduous. A carriage was inadvisable in the mountains, so they would all have to ride. Allyria would be complaining before long.

On the day they left, Arthur bought down a long wooden box, wrapped with a white sash. Jon gasped as he realized what the sash was. The box was finely made, bound in metal and engraved with ancient runes, but it was what was inside the box that drew Jon and Edric's eyes.

The metal was pale white, shining brightly in the sun. It reminded Jon of a silvered mirror reflecting the sunlight. Edric stared at it, enraptured. The light was so bright that after a few moments Jon had to tear his eyes away after a few moments.

Slowly, gingerly, Arthur lifted up Dawn and slid it into a scabbard of supple white leather. There was longing and regret in his face.

"I may have laid down my cloak, but as long as I'm alive and no other Sword of the Morning has been chosen, I must bear Dawn." He answered the unspoken question of why he had taken it out after a decade of gathering dust.

His uncle stared into the distance, lost in memories. Outside, his mother was already in the courtyard, preparing the horses.

With a last glance at the sword of the stars, Jon headed out to join her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow and boring chapter, I'm sure, but one that was pretty necessary to establish a few facts and initiate a few plot threads that will become relevant extremely shortly. I hope you guys don't mind, since the real fun of the AU should start from the next chapter. This chapter was unedited, so if you note any mistakes it should be gone in the next couple days.
> 
> Yes, every line about who Jon's parents are is a huge tease. It wouldn't be fun if it was revealed so early, would it? It's a little early for his personality to emerge (insofar as much as I can give a ten year old a personality, I'm not good with children), but I hope the differences from Canon Jon become more apparent in the next few chapters. I'm hoping to get at least 2-3 chapters of 3-5k words out every month. Hopefully, that pans out...
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'm glad you guys enjoyed it!


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